


your horizon to chase

by femrys



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Age Swap, Anal Sex, And oh, Baker Harry, Fluff, Harry blinks a lot, Harry is 20, M/M, Recreational Smoking, SO MUCH FLUFF, Strangers to Enemies to Lovers, There's smut, and having, but I did anyway, do i deserve rights to make unfunny jokes?, enjoy 10k of absolute nonsense, how can i forget, i most probably don't, inordinate amount of commas, just boys flirting, louis is 18, morning breath doesn't exist, overuse of the word probably, uh kinda lol
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-22
Updated: 2019-04-22
Packaged: 2020-01-23 20:52:06
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 10,294
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18557635
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/femrys/pseuds/femrys
Summary: For the prompt: "I walk into the stock room at work and you're halfway through a window and seem to be balancing on a stack of boxes. You don't even work here, what the HELL do you think you're doing?"Or, Harry bakes, Louis takes, and war of cakes.





	1. Harry

**Author's Note:**

> I only planned this to be roughly at 5k lol. Even though this was so rushed, I had a lot of fun writing this, and I hope you'll love reading it, too!
> 
> A few disclaimers: This is set in London, sometime in September. I don't know anything about how London looks like apart from Google images, so I just made everything up. Any resemblance is purely coincidental, though I highly doubt that. Also, Croma is an Italian place near Manchester Cathedral, but for the sake of fitting in with the story, it's in London.
> 
> The intro drags for a bit, just because I had to squeeze in all the things I deemed important. I hope you don't give up on the story too soon!
> 
> Any mistakes are mine, coz I don't have a beta. My last two brain cells made me write this at 3am.
> 
> Title from Harbor by Vienna Teng.
> 
> This is a work of fiction, I don't own One Direction, yadda yadda.

The shrill sound of marimba wakes Harry up from his sleep. He reaches over and pats on his bedside table to search for his phone. When he grabs hold of it, he cracks one eye open, squinting under the harsh brightness to turn off the alarm. It's 3am.

He groans, rolling onto his back and lies there for a minute.

Harry is a morning person, but at times like yesterday, he mourns the few hours he could have been sleeping still. There were a lot of customers, nothing unusual, but he and Niall were the only ones present, as Liam had the day off, and was at his parents' house for his dad's birthday.

He had to double his efforts, alternating from baking batches of pastries and bread, then going up front to help Niall ring their customers. After the bakery closed at 6pm, he retreated to the back room to prepare a couple of batches to suffice for the morning rush, while Niall sorted the shop.

He gets up a moment later, pats Bark's head with a Good Morning then sets her against his pillow. He heads to his kitchen, to have his morning coffee. When his coffee is ready, he sets the mug on the counter to cool, and sets off to make pancakes.

After he's done cleaning up, he showers and gets dressed in no time. It's quite chilly outside, so he bundles up and then he's on his way to his bakery.

 _His bakery._ It still feels surreal to him, how he owns a bakery at the age of 20. It was originally from his grandmother, a quaint cottage-like pastry shop sticking out like a sore thumb in between rows of buildings.

He's always loved baking since he was sixteen, when his grandma first taught him how to make cakes and bread. Since then, he would always drop by the bakery on his free time, usually after his classes.

When Harry turned eighteen, his grandma got sick. She told him she'd already wrote her will, handing over the bakery to him. He was shocked, letting the thought sink in, then he was beaming, hugging his grandma and thanking her profusely. She just patted his head, a soft smile on her face.

She died a few months later, because of pneumonia. The bakery was closed off for a couple of months after her death, minor renovations and paperworks to be filed. Just before his 20th birthday, he reopened the bakery and even now, seven months later, it still feels like it was only yesterday.

The walk to the bakery passed by in a breeze, his thoughts keeping him company. In no time, he's fishing his keys, and opens the front door of his bakery.

He flicks the light switches, illuminating the shop in a warm glow. He's quite proud of the reinforcements he's made to the bakery. He kept the flooring as it is, rich mahogany slabs strategically placed, creating a homey feel. He added a few modern touches as well, from the pastries he bakes to the knick knacks scattered around. He's added tables, chairs, and booths as well, replacing the wood planks attached to the wall, and stools from before.

Looking around, he takes a moment to appreciate it all in. He doesn't get to do that often, always too busy in the back baking. He's thought of hiring another person to man the bakery though instead of hiring another baker, so they could help him in managing the financial aspect of the bakery. This way, they could come in during weekdays. Which means less workload for him, since he's currently doing the inventories.

Once Harry hires another set of hands and brain, he could still take the opening shift, and bake until 3pm, three hours before closing. He thinks that's a good bargain considering he only has Sundays off. Maybe he can use Saturdays off, too, who knows.

He glances around, from the glass casing housing cakes beside the counter, the small nook holding up bits and bobs like tiny action figures, a frog that jumps when you press on it, a ballerina which turns to the sound of music when you turn the key, a vintage lamp, and a few miniature toys in a ceramic bowl. There's fairy lights curled around a brown string, hooked up on both sides of the nook, littered with polaroids of precious moments.

This is the one that sets his bakery apart other bakeries, often only housing baked goods and nothing else. Sometimes, people take pictures all over the place: the nook, the baskets encasing different kinds of bread over a red and white patterned cloth, shelves upon shelves of tarts, pies, and muffins sitting atop wooden chopping boards.

He loves it a lot. The bakery is his prized possession. It's quite spacious, since at the time his grandmother bought the place, it was sold at a very cheap price.

He goes to the back room after a few lingering looks. He shrugs out of his coat, hangs it up the coat stand by the back door. He drops his small duffle bag on the table, and puts his keys on the hook near the light switch. He also turns the knob of the back door open so that Niall could let himself in when he arrives.

He sets off to work immediately, puts an apron with a cupcake pattern on, and a ridiculous hair net, then washes his hands.

Niall arrives a few minutes before 6am, yawning. Niall's not a morning person, and Harry wonders why he even applied for a job at the bakery, and managed to stay. He has a feeling it's because of the free treats he lets him take home after his shifts.

Regardless, he loves Niall and Liam like they're his brothers. He trusts them with his life. When they've applied for the job, Harry didn't call them in individually. Kill two birds with one stone, they say, so he interviewed them together. They instantly hit it off, all three of them, and Harry thought, they're it.

Even with the hectic schedule of the bakery, they still agreed to take the odd shifts and varying schedules.

The day passes by in a haze of flour and customers, and Harry has never been so thankful that Liam is back, he thinks that if he would have a repeat of yesterday, his head's going to fall off.

Don't get him wrong, he likes that the bakery is doing well, but he's always been better behind the scenes baking than upfront interacting with different people all day. He loves the calm atmosphere of the back room, away from the bustling in the store. He's come to love the whirring sounds from the oven that accompany him daily, and just the act of baking relaxes him the most.

"Harry? I'm going to finish up here in a few." Liam calls out, reminding him that it's almost time to go home. He sometimes loses track of time, caught up with baking.

At that, he calls back an "Alrighty!" then starts cleaning up his workspace. When he's done, he freshens himself up as much as he could with all the flour in his body, and goes inside the shop.

Liam is done tidying up, chairs stacked atop the tables. He glances at the clock, it's nearing 7pm.

"You can go now, Liam. I'll take it from here." Harry tells him. Liam nods and pats him on the back when he passes him.

Harry stays for another half hour, then heads home to sleep the night away.

****

On a particularly slow Monday, a couple of days later, he pays a visit to the stock room behind the bakery, to do an inventory in case any of the ingredients needs restocking. He gets his clipboard and a pen, and tells Niall he's in there if he needs him.

He grabs his keys on his way out, and unlocks the door of the stock room. It isn't much, just shelves after shelves of jars, small boxes, baskets, and sacks, and more boxes against the walls.

He pockets his keys, and gets started.

Harry has just put the jar of blueberry jam back on the shelf when he hears it. There's some shuffling noises coming from somewhere in the stock room. Maybe it was a cat? Did he forget to close the windows yesterday? Several questions run through his mind.

He follows the sounds mindlessly, and comes to a halt at the back of the stock room.

Harry blinks.

He blinks some more.

There's a jiggling arse. Right in his face. A _jiggling arse_ right in his face.

He must be dreaming. He's sure this stuff only happens in books. Arses that jiggle is only a myth. Apparently not.

This person who has a jiggling arse must have not sensed his presence yet, because they're still struggling to hoist their body out of the window. Or in, he's not sure.

Person is only halfway through the window, tiny feet balancing themselves over a stack of boxes.

Harry should probably speak up now, though. This person could be a murderer. Do murderers have dainty ankles and jiggling arses? Probably.

He clears his throat, which still goes unnoticed by Person. Maybe because their head is outside. Or Person's ears are soundproof.

So, Harry decides desperate times, call for desperate measures. Clearing his throat once more, he yells, "What the HELL are you doing?" in his most threatening voice. Which is not much. His voice echoes through the room.

This seems to have caught Person's attention, body tensing. He hears a plonk from outside, like something fell. Maybe Person's jaw, or brain. Either works.

A moment passes, nothing happens.

Then it seems like Person is pulling their upper body in, to face Harry. Harry doesn't move.

Person wiggles for a bit, and then, _oh_. Person is a guy. Person is still facing backwards, but he's definitely a guy.

Person takes a step back, and a lot of things happen at once. Person is flailing his arms, the box he's standing on tips up to Person's weight, Harry doesn't remember moving but he's suddenly behind Person, and catches him in time with the boxes clattering to the floor, thankfully still in tact.

Harry's arms encircle Person's waist, Person's hands touching his arms, probably for something to hold onto instead of being awkwardly suspended in the air. Harry feels tingles at every point of contact. He doesn't dwell on it.

Nobody says anything for a long time. It seems like time and their breathing literally stopped.

At once, a beep from a car outside brings them out of whatever trance they were in. Harry lets go of Person, Person falling to his feet with a huffed 'oof!'

Harry pretends he's not internally cooing at the sound.

Harry clears his throat, ready to give Person a piece of his mind, calmly, when Person turns to face him slowly.

The air literally gets stuck in his throat, triggering a coughing fit. What the _fuck_. He can't believe this is happening. Embarrassing himself in front of a gorgeous boy before they even have a proper conversation.

"Um?" Person says, taking careful steps towards Harry, and hesitantly reaches out his hand to soothe at Harry's back.

Since Person's arms are short, Harry registers that their faces are so close, amidst his blurry vision. And, for the second time in like five minutes, his brain supplies a drawn out _oh_.

Person has the most strikingly beautiful ocean eyes he's ever had the pleasure of seeing. Harry thinks even the ocean pales in comparison. His eyes trail all over Person's face to find even more wonders, like the constellation of freckles on his cheek. He finds that Person's face is a wonder in itself.

He thinks Person notices his stare but doesn't stop his rubbing, and he probably should stop calling this angel, Person in his head.

He decides he's gonna call Person, Ocean instead.

Harry becomes aware that his coughing fit has subsided, but the soothing strokes on his back continues. It seems that Ocean realizes this at the same time, because he draws his hand back.

Harry should probably start talking now.

"Uh, thanks," his voice hoarse, and _really_? That's the best he's got? He tries again, "Um, I was wondering what, um, brought you here of all places?" There. At least he spoke a somewhat coherent sentence.

Ocean's eyes widen a bit, then looks everywhere but Harry. Then, he seems to get ahold of himself and looks back at Harry, and takes a deep breath.

"Mouse."

"What?"

"Mouse. I saw this stupid grey mouse go up the water spout, right, then I noticed your window was open and it was heading that way. I thought I could catch it before it chews on all of your goods. Obviously, I didn't think it through, coz halfway down the window me bum got stuck. I wiggled around to push me body in, but then, you came and I got this rush of something that made me bum fit in the window. The mouse is probably somewhere here munching. Now, we're here."

Harry blinks.

What.

They stand there, stupidly looking at each other for an indeterminable amount of time.

Harry clears his throat.

"What."

"You _really_ want me to repeat _everything_ I said?" Ocean scoffs, tone incredulous.

"Uh, no, I caught everything you said. But. It doesn't make sense. It's just a mouse." He's quite skeptical about the story.

"It's just a _mouse_? _Just a mouse_? ARE YOU KIDDING ME? It's a fucking _pest_! I can't believe I'm having this conversation with you."

"Are you a murderer?"

" _What?_ "

"Are you a thief?"

" _What in the f-_ "

"No need to swear, mate."

Ocean's lips form a thin line. His eyes are stormy, glaring lightning bolts through Harry. It zips through his spine. He doesn't know if it's a good thing, yet.

"Don't. 'Mate'. Me." Ocean hisses, so close to a snarl. His tiny hands are fisted at his sides. Harry definitely doesn't find that cute. Nope.

"I'm not mating you," _Yet_ , Harry's brain supplies, "We're just standing as far as I can see."

"So funny, Curly." Ocean bites back, tone as sarcastic as possible.

"So I've been told." Harry is trying so hard to control his smirk, but with the way his cheeks hurt, he's failing miserably.

"You know what? I'm out of here. I'm so done with this stupid conversation. I hope you have a good life, arsehole." With that, Ocean spins on his heels and heads for the window.

Harry blinks. "Uh?"

"What now?"

"Aren't you going to use the door? You know, like a normal person."

Ocean pauses where he's bent over (Harry's definitely not looking at his bum) stacking the boxes back up.

He straightens, but doesn't look, or reply to Harry. He just turns sideways, head held high, and goes for what Harry assumes is the door.

Harry watches him leave, but before he gets to the door, he calls out, "Wait! What's your name!"

"Fuck you." Ocean gives him the finger for added effect. And then, the door slams shut.

Well, shit.

****

Since The Incident, Harry hasn't seen Ocean again. Sure, they left on quite a strange note, but Harry hasn't been able to stop thinking about him. He blames it on the zip.

He hasn't told anyone about it, not even his stuffed black Labrador toy named Bark he owns since he was thirteen. Bark is a girl. Anne and Gemma hasn't questioned him about the name, but their exasperated-fond faces told him everything.

He confides everything to Bark, even the smallest things like how he forgot to say sorry when he bumped into a tree because he was in a hurry, so he came back and gave his sincerest apologies. He even bowed his head.

He thinks it's least likely that they're going to see each other again, but if Ocean found his bakery, it means he at least lives close by.

Harry doesn't know why he's so hung up about it when they barely even knew each other, and were already on each other's throats. It's been two weeks now, for fuck's sake. He should probably forget it even happened.

"Should I forget him, Bark?" Harry asks, Bark just looks backs at him with those puppy eyes.

Harry sighs. He gives himself one more week, then he'll forget about him.

He spends his days the same way he did before he met Ocean: baking, more baking, hanging out with Niall and Liam, sleeping, eating, and more baking.

He's absolutely not thinking about anyone. Not even Ocean.

He's _fine_.

****

Harry's not fine. In fact, he thinks his brain is going to fall off his head. As much as it can fall off while he's lying on his bed.

It's been a very long Thursday at the bakery. He's been up since 3am, got home at 8pm, and he's dead tired. But, no matter what he does, he can't fall asleep. He's been tossing and turning for a good twenty minutes now. He's tried listening to soothing songs to help him sleep, literally counting sheep's, and even tried doing pushups until his arms went numb.

He glances at his bedside table, the red glare from the clock reads 22:16.

"This is pathetic." Harry says to absolutely no one, his voice loud in his otherwise silent room.

He kicks the sheets off himself, puts on whatever clothing he sees, grabs his keys, his pink lighter, and nicks a stick from his pack of cigarettes then sticks it in the space between his ear and the side of his head. He has a half mind to grab his phone as well. Then, he's out.

Harry takes the stairs, climbing up to the rooftop. His building has five floors, his flat situated on the third. The rooftop's been his safe haven of sorts, a refuge from his thoughts.

He goes to the railing, not leaning, just standing a reasonable distance from it, and thinks.

He thinks about how he hasn't visited his family since they moved back to Cheshire almost a year ago. They've kept in touch, FaceTiming every weekend.

He thinks about his life, how much has changed since he was only sixteen, and the seemingly nagging feeling of loneliness despite having everything he's wanted.

He's just reaching for his cigarette so he could light it when a voice stops him in his tracks.

" _What the fuck_ are you wearing, mate?"

That voice, despite hearing it once and only for a few minutes, is so achingly familiar. He thinks he'd recognize it anywhere.

Harry slowly turns around, bracing himself for the impact. But, nothing could have ever prepared him to see Ocean in all his glory, the dim light behind him effectively bathing his outline like a halo. _Definitely an angel._

He thinks he's stopped breathing.

Harry blinks.

Then, he remembers what he's been asked and turns to look at what he's wearing. He didn't bother to get a good look at himself before going out, and now he's regretting it.

He's wearing a white shirt with a tie dye pattern, which he's sure he's made when he was in fourth grade for a school project, a size or two smaller than his usual size. As for his bottoms, he's wearing a Superman pajama pants, complete with the briefs printed at the waist to make it look realistic.

Harry is absolutely _mortified_.

He's only met Ocean twice so far, and those two times, Harry managed to embarrass himself. There must be a record he's breaking, surely.

Ocean's looking at him funny, which makes him realize that he hasn't replied yet.

He clears his throat. "Oh, this? It's the new fashion trend, mate."

He also realizes his arm is still awkwardly reaching for his cigarette, which is why he saves his situation by making a suave move of retrieving the cigarette, his other hand holding the pink lighter.

He taps the end of the cigarette twice on his palm, noting that Ocean's eyes are following his every move. He situates the cigarette between his lips, pink lighter on the ready, and his other hand shielding the flame as he lights his cigarette. He furrows his brows, for added effect.

Ocean clears his throat. "Well then I guess I'm sticking with being old-fashioned."

"Hey, I'm not judging. As if I'm in any place to judge." Harry gestures at himself, cigarette hanging off the side of his lips. Puffs of smoke escapes his lips on every word.

This gets Ocean to laugh, the tinkling sound absolute heaven to his ears. He wants to bottle it up so he could listen to it whenever he wants.

A silence passes them, still looking at each other.

Harry breaks it.

"So, what brings you here?"

"Not that it's any of your business, but I always come up here when I couldn't sleep. Tonight is one of those."

"Hmm."

Another silence. Now, it's Ocean who breaks it.

"Well?"

"Well what?"

"Well, how about you? Clearly, you came up here for a reason."

"It's dark in here, but I can literally hear you roll your eyes. Careful there, they might get stuck."

"What's that got to do with the dark?"

"It's science. You wouldn't understand."

Harry can't see his face clearly under the dim lights, but he's sure Ocean is glaring at him. "If looks could kill, I'd be dead by now."

"Is it because of science, too?"

"Maybe."

Ocean doesn't reply, just steps forward until he's in front of Harry. Then, he grabs the cigarette from Harry's lips, which he honestly forgot it's even there. He still groans out a, "Hey..." but it gets lost in the wind.

Ocean brings it to his own lips, sucking a long drag, and blows it out immediately. He does it a couple of times, Harry just watches him, mesmerized.

No one speaks for a long time. Harry takes this moment to look at Ocean's body, notes that he's wearing a pink matching Spongebob-patterned pajamas, and a red and gold Iron Man socks.

He barely stifles his laugh.

"What are you laughing at?"

He bursts out, laughing so hard. It goes on for a minute.

"Have you quite finished?"

Harry's clutching at his stomach, his laughter slowly dying down. He looks at Ocean, his face the very definition of unimpressed. But there's also a hint of something. If Harry dares say, it's a look of fondness.

Harry nods, "Yeah, yeah. I think I have quite finished."

"So?"

"Oh, yeah. It's just..." Harry trails off, a hint of laughter on his lips but he suppresses it by biting his lip. He just gestures to Ocean's outfit, Ocean's face still very much unimpressed.

"Yeah, well. I love them both so you can gladly fuck off." Ocean blows out the remaining smoke on Harry's face, his stance changing to one where his hips are cocked at one side, left arm tucked under his right arm, his right arm holding the cigarette up near his face.

He looks so sexy like that, but Harry will never admit to that.

The cigarette is also mostly done. Harry grabs it in one swift move and brings it to his lips. He sucks in the remaining drags, and then drops the butt on the ground. Out of habit, he moves to stub it with his foot, but then he realizes he's only wearing socks. Mismatched ones at that.

"You know what, I'm so tired of calling you Ocean in my head." He blows out the smoke.

"You call me Ocean in your head?" His tone is incredulous, but it sounds like he's containing a smile.

"Yeah. Your eyes are the shade of the ocean. I thought it was quite fitting." Harry holds a hand out, "I'm Harry." He smiles, hoping that he's going to get a name soon.

"Smooth. I'd say you're fishing for a name, Harold."

"My name's not Harold. It's just, Harry."

"Whatever you say, Harold."

"So?"

"So what?"

"Your name. I thought that was quite obvious."

"Ugh, fine. I'm only agreeing to this because I'm afraid your arm might fall off from awkwardly hanging there." He clasps his hand to Harry's, "I'm Louis."

Harry absolutely melts. Even his name is beautiful. "It's so nice to meet you, Louis. I'm Harry."

"So you've said." Louis' eyes are soft, a hint of a smile on his lips. Harry can't look away.

He looks away, albeit reluctantly, and looks down at their hands. He realizes this is a mistake because, _fuck_ , Louis' hand is completely engulfed in Harry's, so tiny like the rest of him.

Louis coughs.

The sound makes Harry snap out of it, withdrawing his hand unwillingly.

Harry coughs, too.

"Now that the introductions are out of the way, I suppose you live here as well?"

"Obviously, Harold. Why else would I be here?" Louis scoffs.

"Hmm. Never seen you around until now. How long have you lived here?" Harry's curious, sue him.

It seems like Louis wants to reply another snarky comment, but decides against it the last second and says, "I just moved in last June, so only a couple of months. I turned eighteen last December, so it's me first time living alone."

He's eighteen. Interesting.

"Hmm. You here for uni or something?"

"Yeah, Just started this Fall actually. Got meself a job at Fireworks, too."

" _The dessert parlour along Baker Street?_ " Harry can't believe this. He doesn't want to believe it.

"Yeah! That's it. I started as soon as I moved here. Have you been there?" Louis replies, goes to sit at the green worn down couch near the railing. Harry, unsurprisingly, follows.

"Of course I've been there. I work at the bakery next to it!" Harry tries to keep himself calm. Inhale, exhale.

A look of recognition crosses Louis' face. "Oh, right! I remember now. I met you in that stock room. How can I forget." He shakes his head.

"Yeah, feels like it's been ages since then." Harry pauses. Then, "I can't believe we've been neighbors for months and yet we've only met like, two weeks ago."

Harry doesn't keep count, not at all.

"Me too. I think it's got to do with the fact that you leave at odd hours since you work at a bakery, and I assume goes home at odd hours too. I leave at 7am for my shift at Fireworks, then heads home from uni at 9pm."

"You're wise for your age."

Louis scoffs. "You sound old for your age."

"How old do you think I am? For all you know, I could be fifty." Harry chuckles.

"With the way you talk, you might as well be fifty. You sound like a grandpa."

"Do I _look_ like a grandpa?"

Louis falters, "No. But, uh. You're, um. You're just fishing for compliments, you bastard!" He swats at Harry's shoulder playfully. Harry's cheeks hurt.

Harry doesn't reply, but he thinks with the way Louis' looking at him, he doesn't need to.

****

Harry wakes up with rays of sun hitting his face. And a mouthful of hair. Which. What?

Harry pulls back a bit, suddenly more awake, and surveys the scene. He's on the edge of the couch, arms slung over and under Louis' body, both of them facing the back of the couch.

They must have crashed as soon as they stopped talking last night. They talked about everything and nothing. It feels like they've been friends for so long. Everything is easy.

Or so he thinks. Harry doesn't know what to do. If he tries to pull his arms back, Louis will wake up for sure. He thinks he's not yet ready to see what Louis' morning face is like.

Louis decides for him because he stirs in his sleep, shifts around in Harry's arms until his face nuzzles Harry's chest. He's still asleep. Harry thinks he's having a heart attack.

Louis' face first thing in the morning is probably the most beautiful thing he's ever seen. His eyelashes are so long, they're casting shadows on his cheeks. He looks so soft like this, so innocent.

The soft curve of his nose, thin lips parted just a bit, huffs of breath warming Harry through his shirt. He should probably stop staring like a creep.

He can't stop.

"Take a picture, it'll last longer." Louis rasps, voice scratchy from sleep. He's still got his eyes closed, but the corner of his lips is upturned.

And _what_? How could he even tell Harry's staring at him? How long has he been awake?

"I don't know what you're talking about." Harry says, but keeps his gaze on Louis' face.

Louis opens his eyes, then looks up at Harry. Oh. Harry thinks his brain broke down, the only word ringing in his head is _blueblueblue_.

"Your eyes...they look even more beautiful up close. Wow." Harry is in awe, if he had a pen and a paper, he could write odes about Louis' eyes alone.

Harry sees Louis bite his lip, clearly controlling his smile. "Yeah? You think so?"

"Yeah. I could drown in your eyes. They're so deep and blue."

"Like the ocean?"

"Like the ocean," Harry confirms, "Better than the ocean."

Louis doesn't reply, but the blush high on his cheeks is answer enough.

Louis breaks their moment, patting Harry's chest. "Get up, big head. I can't feel my legs."

Harry scoffs, but stands up nonetheless. "Well, I can't feel my arms. I think you crushed them."

"Oh hush, you liked it. You liked having me in your arms." Louis gets up, only to sit back down.

"Yeah, yeah. I did." Harry replies before Louis even finished. Clearly, Harry's brain to mouth filter isn't working this early in the morning. Speaking of, "Shit, what time is it?"

Harry hasn't even noticed Louis got his phone. It must have fallen off his pocket last night. "It's almost 8am."

"Fuck. I didn't hear my alarm go off. Do I have texts?"

"There's like, five or so texts from a certain Irish bread with a beer emoji. Would you like me to read them?"

"Shit, he must be so pissed. But, go on." Harry doesn't know why he's not hurrying to get to the bakery. He knows he doesn't want to let go of Louis yet.

"Okay, first one says, _wer r u mate?_ _i thnk me balls are frozen._ It was sent at 5:45am. Next, 5:59am, _is 2day a holiday idk abt bcoz it's already time for opening n we're still closed._ The next one is at 6:13am, just a simple _r u oaky_. Then, after a minute, _*okay_. The next text just says, _!!!!!!!!!!!!!!_ sent at 6:37am. Last text at 7:01am says, _txt me whn u see this peepz r askin why we're closed._ What should I reply?"

Harry slaps a hand on his face, then kind of just crumples his face with his hand. He looks down, then sighs.

"Uh, just give it here, I'll do it." Harry extends his other hand, and waits for Louis to place his phone on it.

"Done. I told him to take the day off because it's a Harry day."

Harry looks up at Louis with a blank face. "What."

"Get it? He asked if today's a holiday he doesn't know, so I told him it's a Harry day." Louis is laughing so hard at his own silly joke, crinkles breaking out by his eyes. Harry is not endeared.

Harry sighs. He can't help but curse gravity because it seems that his lips always defies it whenever he's with Louis.

"I don't know why I put up with you."

"You like me, obviously."

"Obviously." Harry drags out the word, not breaking eye contact when Louis catches his gaze.

There's the unmistakable blush on his cheeks. Harry's not sure if it's because of his laugh session, or if it's because Louis' affected by him.

"Don't you have work today, Mister?"

"As a matter of fact, I don't, Kind Sir. Fridays and Sundays are me days off." Louis replies in a posh voice, bows his head for full effect.

He still has Harry's phone. Harry makes no move to get it.

"Interesting. Do you have any plans?"

Louis squints. He adjusts himself on the couch, lies sideways with his head supported by his left hand. He looks like Rose from that one scene in Titanic. "Harold. Are you asking me on a _date_?"

"Probably." Harry smirks.

"Ask me nicely."

There's a glint in his eyes that says he already has an answer either way, but Harry is not one to back down when challenged.

He goes down on one knee, harsh cement be damned, and holds out his arms, hand over the other, palms up. As if he's proposing. Huh.

"Louis, whose last name I don't know yet, love of my life, the stars in my sky, would you please go out with me?" Harry can't feel his cheeks. Louis must feel the same with the way he's beaming.

Louis sits up, holds out his hand to touch Harry's. "Of course, Kind Sir. I would love to."

Harry feels him squeeze his hand.

****

After they've discussed the details of their date and learned each other's last names, they've stayed at the rooftop, just cuddling, until Louis' stomach grumbled. They've agreed it's best to get back and freshen up.

Harry wants to invite Louis over for breakfast, but he thinks both of them needs to be alone. They both need the time to sort themselves out.

The plan goes like this: Harry will pick Louis up from his flat a floor below at 6:30pm. They will eat dinner at Croma, an Italian place seven blocks from their building. After dinner, they will walk to the park two blocks over, maybe feed the ducks and eat ice cream, because they're one big cliché. Then, they will drive back home, and hopefully share a kiss by Louis' door.

****

Of course, nothing goes according to plan. For one, Croma is _packed_. There's even a line outside, queuing to get in. They don't get out of Harry's car.

Secondly, they don't have a plan B. Which is how Harry has absolutely no idea where to take them. They drive around mindlessly, until Harry spots a familiar sign straight ahead.

Louis' looking at him curiously, but he ignores it. He just knows Louis will love it no matter where they eat.

In no time, he pulls up to McDonald's, smiling as he looks over at Louis' fake affronted expression. He gets out of the car first and hurries to open Louis' car door, despite Louis' protests.

Harry holds his arm out for Louis to take, and Harry doesn't miss the pleased smile Louis' trying so hard to hide.

They walk inside together, earning stares from everyone, probably wondering if they were lost or something. Well, they were on their first date after all, so they dressed up and it's not like they planned this. They're wearing matching black blazers and trousers, black undershirt for Harry, and a blue undershirt for Louis.

To complete their look, Harry's wearing black Chelsea boots, and Louis' wearing dark brown dress shoes. They look quite posh for McDonald's.

They ignore everyone's gazes, and falls in line. Harry asks Louis what he wants, then tells him to go look for their seats.

Harry orders, searches for Louis in a sea of hair, and spots him at a booth by the window. Perfect.

He reaches their table, rearranges their food and then soon enough, they're eating.

"You surprise me, Mister Styles." Louis says as he shoves five pieces of French fries in his mouth at once, then sips at his large-sized coke.

"I try, Mister Tomlinson." Harry replies, before dipping his fry on the sour cream dip. He eats one fry at a time, you know, like a normal person.

The rest of their dinner consists of stolen glances, badly-suppressed smiles, and rounds of footsies. A fry or two may or may not have ended up on Harry's curls. There's probably lettuce up there, too.

****

They walk back to the car, bellies and hearts full. Harry doesn't want the night to end yet. Nothing so far has gone according to plan, but he thinks this is better.

The drive is spent in silence, both of them basking in each other's presence and happiness. Harry's just turning a corner when he spots his bakery and he gets an idea.

He drives them there, and looks at Louis excitedly.

Louis looks back at him. "Stop making that face. You look like a frog. It's creeping me out a bit."

"Hey."

"Don't look so offended now, love. You're still cute." Louis blushes.

They finally come to a stop in front of his bakery, and then Harry hurries to open Louis' door. Louis scoffs, tells him he doesn't need to do that every time.

"Stop complaining. This is the full Styles treatment." Harry smirks.

Louis just rolls his eyes. They stand for a moment in front of the bakery.

" _Harry's Bakery, really?_ " Louis giggles, shaking his head.

"Hey, I wanted it to be personal. Simple, but effective." Harry replies, while he slots the key in the front door's knob.

Harry holds the door open for Louis, gestures for him to go ahead. Louis does, and then Harry follows.

Harry turns a couple of lights on, bathing the space yellow. Harry watches Louis look around in awe, eyes so bright even in the dim lighting.

"Wow, I can't believe I've never been here. It's so beautiful, Harry. I love it." Louis says, looking around.

Harry looks down and shuffles his toes, appearing so bashful.

"Thank you. I'm so glad you love it, you can come by anytime." Harry replies.

"Can I try one?" Louis turns to him, looking so hopeful.

"Of course, love. Try anything you want. It's on the house." Harry winks.

Harry watches him decide, eyes flitting from one basket to another. Then, he reaches for a blueberry muffin, a classic.

Louis leans in for a bite, and moans. Harry adjusts himself.

He opts to distract himself, by going behind the counter to retrieve two plates and two forks. He reaches for the knife and asks, "What flavor would you like, baby?"

Louis turns his head so fast, Harry's afraid he's given himself a whiplash. Harry has let the endearment slip on purpose.

"Cakes? Oh my god! You spoil me!" Louis gets to the glass casing, looking at the assortment of cakes. Harry looks on fondly.

"Hmm. I'd like a slice of the Mango Float cake....and ooh! Can I have a slice of the Black Forest cake as well, please?" Louis turns to him, and what is Harry going to do when there's a puppy-eyed Louis in front of him? _Say no?_

"Coming right up!" Harry replies.

Harry ends up getting a bit of everything, like a cake tasting of sorts. He does want to spoil Louis. He puts the plates on the wooden tray.

They get situated in one of the booths near the windows, but they can't actually peer outside because the metal protection thingies are down.

Louis eagerly takes a bite of the Mango Float cake slice, and nearly chokes himself with how fast he's thrust the fork in his mouth.

It's a flurry of moans and fond smiles from there. Harry kind of just sits there and admires what Louis' like.

Harry is so lost just looking at Louis, that he doesn't notice him smiling at him mischievously, until he feels icing on both of his cheeks.

Harry's eyes are wide, not expecting the attack. He snaps out of it quickly, and of course, prepares for revenge.

"Ooh. That's how it is, I see." Harry smiles a dangerous smile, which Louis has called his Frog Smile. Whatever.

Louis is so busy laughing with his eyes closed, so Harry reaches for a cake slice, he thinks it's a strawberry shortcake, and flings it across the table and hits Louis right on his nose with a splat.

The look on Louis' face at that is so rewarding. It seems like he was not expecting Harry to retaliate at all. His face changes from shocked to downright mischievous, grits out an, "It's on, Styles," before he flings the triple chocolate cake slice towards Harry.

Harry doesn't know how much time has passed since they started this cake war, but it must've been a while since both of them are lying side by side on the floor, their labored breathing and residual chuckles the only sounds heard.

Harry thinks there's icing in his ear, and he's pretty sure there's icing on his hair, but he doesn't care.

He turns his head to Louis, sees him in a similar state. They're both covered in different sorts of icing, a variety of colors painted all over their bodies.

There's a brown looking stuff stuck on Louis' cheek, and he reaches over to wipe it off. This brings their bodies closer, their eyes locking. Harry pulls his hand back and brings it to his lips, licking off the substance and maintaining eye contact.

"Hmm. Chocolate Fudge, my favorite." Harry says.

He's not sure who moves first, but that doesn't matter when Louis' lips are on his, an insistent pressure that he's starting to love.

Harry swipes his tongue on Louis' bottom lip, asking for entry. Louis gives it to him, opening his mouth, and Harry wastes no time licking in.

They kiss heatedly, wet and filthy, both of them pouring everything into it. Louis moves to straddle him, not breaking their kiss, and Harry's hands immediately go for his hips while Louis fists his curls.

They both moan into each other's mouths, the sound lost between tongues and teeth. Harry's hands can't keep still, palming Louis' sides, and goes as far as squeezing his hips, so close to his bum.

Louis whimpers at that, and brings his hands over both of Harry's hands on his hips, and moves them lower. That's all the permission Harry needs before he's grabbing handfuls of meaty flesh.

Harry groans, because fuck, it's so soft and perfect under his hands. He pulls back a bit, speaks the words directly on Louis' lips. "Fuck, baby," his voice so deep, and he can't help but thrust up. "You're so hot."

Louis whines, bites Harry's bottom lip. "Harry, please."

"Please what, baby? Need you to tell me what you want." Harry kisses down his jaw then neck, Louis tilting his head back for more access.

"Want to suck you, Harry, _please_." Louis hisses out as Harry bites at his chin.

"Of course, baby. Whatever you want." Harry continues sucking kisses all over Louis' face, cleaning him up. The mixture of sweet icings and the taste of Louis' skin is now on top of the list of his favorite flavors.

Louis seems to be cleaning him up as well, swipes of fingers on his face and sucking noises next to his ear.

"C'mon, baby. Not here. Let's take this home." Harry sucks one last kiss on Louis' jaw and pats his bum to get him to stand.

They hurriedly fix themselves, as much as they can, and heads out. Harry checks the damage, and figures it can wait until tomorrow and flicks off the lights, locks up, then drives them home.

****

Once they pull up to their building, Louis hurriedly unlatches his seatbelt, opens the car door and sprints inside.

Harry is not far behind, catching up to Louis in time before the elevator doors close. Thankfully, they're the only ones inside, and of course they make out against the wall.

Louis pulls him in by the lapels of his blazer and Harry's arms cage him in. Louis' insatiable, their car ride was so tense because Louis' hand keep creeping up his crotch and Harry nearly swerved.

The ding of the elevator signals them that they've reached the third floor. They didn't even discuss on whose flat they'd end up but it seems that they've come to an agreement to go back to Harry's.

They pull apart, a teenage girl with headphones in looks at them with wide eyes but doesn't say a word. They get off the elevator, the girl avoiding them and rushes into the elevator.

They look at each other for a beat then burst into chuckles.

Harry reaches for Louis' hand and leads them to his flat, their footsteps echoing in the empty hallway.

The door's barely shut when Harry pins Louis against it, licking into his mouth unabashedly. Louis lifts his leg up to Harry's hips, their clothed cocks aligning. They grind dirtily, as Harry sucks on Louis' tongue.

Louis pulls back, tugs at Harry's hair, and presses one more kiss on his lips. "Give me a tour later. All I want right now is your cock fucking my mouth."

"Yeah, baby. C'mon." Harry flicks one light on, then leads them to his bedroom. They leave trails of their clothes, and once they reach Harry's bedroom, both of them are down to their boxers.

They stare at each other's bodies, the moonlight their only source of light, filtering in through the windows. "You are so gorgeous." Harry says, breathless.

"You're not so bad yourself, Mister Styles." Louis replies, equally as breathless.

"Come here."

Louis doesn't need to be told twice, he runs towards Harry, Harry catching him by his thighs. Their lips meet in a searing kiss, way more passionate than any kisses they've shared so far, at the same time, the most intimate.

Harry steps back until the backs of his knees hit the bed. He sits, not once breaking their kiss, and Louis sits himself properly on Harry's lap.

Louis pulls away to kiss his way down, one hand on Harry's neck, the other traveling down his chest next to his kisses.

Louis lifts himself off of Harry's lap, Harry already misses the warmth.

He kneels in front of Harry, his lips trailing featherlight kisses on Harry's V-line. Harry sifts his fingers through Louis' hair, and tugs. "Go ahead, baby."

Louis reaches for the waistband of Harry's boxers and wastes no time pulling it down. Harry's cock springs up, red and so wet at the tip. He lifts his hips up so Louis can remove his boxers fully. Then, he opens his legs so Louis can get in between.

He watches Louis lick his lips at the sight of his cock. He grinds up, signaling Louis he can start.

Louis leans in, gives a few kisses around the head, then licks a fat stripe from the base of Harry's cock to the head. He opens his mouth to suck the tip of his cock in, and then slowly bobs his head down to suck more of Harry's length.

Harry massages Louis' scalp, Louis moans around his cock at the feeling. Louis looks up at him, and he looks so fucking pretty with his lips stretched wide around his cock, that he has to throw his head back to escape the sight or else he'll blow up right then and there.

"Fuck, baby. You're so good at this. Keep sucking me like that." Harry praises, and he feels Louis' tongue flick at the underside of his cock as he bobs his head on his shaft.

"Oh, fuck. You feel so good, baby." Harry's eyes roll back, and his hips thrust up on its own, chasing the wet warmth that is Louis' mouth.

He gasps, when instead of gagging noises, he's met with wanton sounds, and Louis going deeper until his nose meets the sparse hair at the base of his cock.

His orgasm takes him by surprise, so he doesn't have time to warn Louis, but he just takes his load like a champ, deep-throating him through it.

His chest heaves, as Louis cleans him up. He licks up every drop of cum, and when he deems his cock clean, he sucks both of his balls in his mouth.

"Fuck, _Louis_." Harry grits out, and feels his cock hardening already. He doesn't know if it even softened.

Louis pulls off with a pop, beaming at him. Harry pulls him up his lap, and kisses him hard. He can taste himself on Louis' tongue, and he chases it.

"Mmm, baby. That was great. You were so good for me." Harry says in between kisses.

Louis moans, and speaks against his lips, "I want you to fuck me, Harry, please. I need your cock in me. I want to feel you." He grinds down to prove his point.

"Are you sure, baby? We don't have to do it tonight, I can wait." Harry looks in his eyes.

"Yes, Harry, I'm sure. Fingered myself earlier. Felt how big you are against me last night."

"Fuck." Harry surges in, biting kisses on Louis' lips because he can't not.

He lifts off the bed, taking Louis with him, and gently lays him on his bed. Louis tells him to take his boxers off for him, and he gladly obliges.

Then, Harry grabs a pillow and puts it under Louis' hips. He catches his gaze, and asks, "This okay?" and receives a nod in return.

Harry lays on his stomach between Louis' spread legs, kissing up from his ankles to his thighs. He feels Louis' legs trembling, and smooths a hand on each leg as if to tell him "I got you."

He peppers kisses around his pink puckered hole, and Louis whines above him because he's narrowly avoiding where he wants to be touched the most.

Harry takes pity and lifts his legs over his shoulders and licks a fat stripe from Louis' hole up to his balls. He hears Louis gasp, and he wants to pull these noises out of him, so he dives in tongue first, Louis' hole loosened a bit.

He tastes like salt, like the ocean, and something so distinctly Louis. There's also a faint taste of strawberry, the flavor of the lube Louis must have used to finger himself earlier.

Harry chases the taste, alternates licking and sucking on Louis' hole. He hums mid-lick, "You taste so good, baby. Love how you taste." He points his tongue over Louis' hole, and traces circles all over the puckered skin.

Then, he trails his tongue from his hole to his perineum, up to his balls. He traces his tongue around each of Louis' balls, and revels in the pleasured noises he's making.

"Fuck, Harry. Please, _please_." Louis mewls when Harry inserts two fingers in his hole, his tongue licking around the digits as they pump in and out.

Before long, Louis' begging for Harry's cock, and Harry can't deny him anything any longer. He leans over Louis to reach into his bedside table drawer, and retrieves a bottle of lube and a condom.

He rips the packet open and rolls it on his cock, picks the bottle of lube up and squirts a decent amount on his hand so he can slick himself up.

"Ready?" Harry asks as he holds himself up over Louis. Louis breathes out, "Yeah. Fuck me, please." So, Harry does.

He lines his cock with Louis' entrance, and pushes in slowly. He watches Louis' face for any sign of discomfort, and finds a bit so he pauses. When Louis urges him to go on, he continues to push his cock in inch by inch, until his balls are snug against Louis' arse.

Harry stills for a moment, letting Louis adjust. He leans down to kiss Louis, hoping it'll distract him from the pain. "So tight, baby, fuck."

Louis moans, pulls back to tell him to move, and so Harry draws his hips back. When only the tip is sheathed inside Louis' hole, he thrusts back in, trading swallows of moans.

He sets up a nice rhythm going, alternating from long drags of his cock against Louis' warm, clenching hole, to fast punching thrusts that make Louis cry out.

Louis' nails scratch at his back, as he mouths along his jaw. A thin sheen of sweat is already forming on both of their bodies, slick drags of skin adding fuel to their fire.

Strings of _uh uh uh's_ escape Louis' kiss-bitten lips, hips grinding down on Harry's thrusts.

"Fuck, baby. You can't even just lie there and take it. Using my cock to get yourself off." Harry opens his legs wider for better leverage, and thrusts his hips harder, deeper.

"Oh, fuck. Yes, yes, yes. Just like that, Haz. You're fucking me so good." Louis babbles against his ear.

"Yeah? Think you can come for me just like this? Just from my cock?" Harry slows down his thrusts, fading to sensual grinds of his hips.

"Please, I'm so close, Harry." Louis whines, does his best to get Harry's cock deeper in him.

"Me too, baby. Come on, show me how good you are for me. Come while I'm fucking you like this." Harry resumes his fast pace, determined to make Louis come.

Louis gasps on a particularly hard thrust against his prostate and comes, his cock spurting out white, hot come between them.

"So fucking pretty for me, baby. You're gonna make me come, fuck." Harry grits out, Louis' hole clenching deliciously around his throbbing cock.

He thrusts a few more times before he's spurting hotly, deep inside Louis. He rides their orgasms out, licking into Louis' lax mouth.

Louis whimpers from the oversensitivity, so Harry pulls out, ties the condom and flings it in the general direction of the trash can. He thinks he's missed when he hears a splat.

He drops to Louis' side, and plants a kiss on his shoulder as he smooths a hand over Louis' arms. "That was amazing, baby."

"I think you broke me, Haz. I can't feel my arse." Louis chuckles, turns to face Harry. "Now, carry me to the bathroom. We're all sorts of sticky and I'm starting to feel itchy."

Harry just snorts, overly fond of this boy already. "Of course, baby. Whatever you want."

He stands up, bends down and carries Louis bridal style.


	2. Louis

Louis hates Mondays. Especially this Monday.

Fireworks is always crowded at this particular day, and he's always quite grumpy whenever he gets back to work from a day off.

He's just finished clearing the table occupied by a group of college students, when his boss clears her throat behind him.

Louis turns to face her. "How can I help you, Miss Jones?" He puts on a fake smile. She returns it.

"Louis, do you mind going to shops real quick? Matt says we're running out of sugar. You can still take your remaining breaks later. Don't worry."

"Of course, I don't mind, Miss Jones. Let me just finish up here."

"Alright. Kindly pick up three pounds of brown sugar. That should be enough for today. The delivery got delayed, so we should expect our supply for sugar tomorrow. Here, use the store's credit card for the purchase." She hands him the card, but Louis quickly refuses.

"It's alright, Miss Jones. I got it. Quite silly to use a credit card for a measly sugar purchase." Louis chuckles, a bit nervous for her reaction.

She actually smiles, a genuine one, at him. "Thank you, dear. I'll make sure to add an extra incentive on your next pay. Anyway, I've got to get going. Just give the sugar directly to Matt once you get back, alright?"

"Sure thing, Miss Jones!" Louis says cheerily.

She nods at him, then turns around to get back to her office upstairs. He releases a sigh. A happy sigh nonetheless.

Well, Mondays are probably not so bad after all.

****

After he's done cleaning up, he heads to the break room and unties his apron. He removes his ridiculous hair net as well.

He goes through his bag, and grabs his phone and wallet. He checks himself one last time in the mirror, then goes out of the store through the back door.

He walks through the alley, the stench of mixed up everything flits through his nose.

Before he gets far, Louis passes by a stock room of sorts. He guesses it's for the bakery next to Fireworks. He's been meaning to check the place out, since his coworkers and some of his classmates have mentioned that their pastries are to die for.

Then, suddenly, Louis can literally picture himself standing in an alleyway with a light bulb going off on his head, complete with the ding! sound effect.

Bakery. Stock room. Bingo.

He can just nick some sugar from there. This way, he wouldn't be spending money but still get paid extra for it. The location of the stock room is just an added bonus, so he wouldn't need to walk four blocks to get to Tesco.

With this eureka moment in mind, Louis surveys the area and spots a broken ladder next to a trash bin, but it'll do. He's not that heavy anyway.

He sets the ladder next to the open window of the stock room. Honestly, who even leaves their stock room's windows open? Aren't stock rooms supposed to be stuffy in nature?

Louis climbs up the ladder up to the fifth step, thankfully the broken part is somewhere at the eighth or ninth step.

He balances himself on his right foot and places his left foot on the windowsill. He grips at the pipes next to the window, so he can move his right foot in.

Once he's in a sitting position, he wiggles his body in. It's times like this that he's thankful of being tiny. Though, he'll never admit it out loud.

In the process, Louis' shoes collide with a flat surface, which he imagines are stack of boxes. Honestly, this is going to easy for him. There must be a catch. Whatever.

He plants his feet firmly on the boxes, then grips the metal bars outlining the windows, so he can have a better balance. Once his whole body is inside, he takes the scene in, plotting his next move.

He lets go of his grip on the metal bars, and jumps down the stack of boxes. Which is not much, since there's only two boxes stacked.

He surveys the room, hands on his hips, as he lets out a breath. He finds where the supply of sugar is located easily, and grabs two packs labelled "Brown Sugar" with a net weight of 2 lbs. indicated below the packaging.

He hugs the packs close to his chest, then goes to the window to get back out.

He puts the packs of sugar above the box, and climbs up. He bends down and retrieves the packs so he could throw them out as he makes his escape.

Louis is halfway out of the window, ready to drop the packs of sugar so he could use his hands, when someone behind him shouts something. He's not sure what it was, but it makes him retreat so he could make up an excuse for his situation.

Louis drops the packs of sugar.

Then, he wiggles himself back, until he's fully inside standing upright. Louis takes a step back.

His life flashes right before his eyes.

****

_**Eight months later...** _

"Honey, I'm home!" Louis hears the heavy thumps of footsteps echo through the flat.

He's in the kitchen, leaning against the counter with his arms crossed, waiting for his tea to steep.

Harry's head pops through the archway leading to the kitchen. His ugly face is nearly split in half with the way he's smiling. Honestly, what an idiot. Louis' definitely not smiling back.

"Hi, baby. How was your day?" Harry asks as he makes his way to him, pressing a kiss against his temple. Louis leans into it.

"Hmm. I missed you." Louis blushes, but looks up at Harry anyway.

"I missed you too, baby. So much, I baked something new that reminds me of you." Harry tells him, bright-eyed and biting his lip.

"You did what, now?" Louis feigns incredulity, tugs of fondness seeping in the corners of his lips.

"I made [Olive Oil Brownies with Sea Salt](https://cooking.nytimes.com/recipes/1019770-olive-oil-brownies-with-sea-salt). I saw this recipe online, and the description fits you like a glove. So I decided to try it. I made a batch to bring home, but Niall insisted I let him taste it. I gave him one, which turned five. He said he gave the others to Liam. Liam is on his day off by the way."

"Sounds like Niall to me." Louis chuckles.

"So I made another batch. Just for you, baby." Harry lifts a box, tied with a blue lace ribbon and all, which he didn't notice earlier.

"You spoil me too much." Louis accepts the box either way.

"I love you." Harry replies, gazing into his eyes. It's not the first time they said it to each other, but it never fails to give him the flutters.

"I love you too." Louis looks back at him, and leans up to kiss the corner of Harry's mouth.

"Go on, baby, try it." Harry urges him, patting his bum twice.

Louis unties the ribbon, and lifts the top of the box. The rich scent of chocolate fudge and salt invades his nostrils. His mouth waters.

He stops mid-reach, when he notices that the nuts placed top of each brownie forms a shape or letter. A message.

U R MY 🏠

Louis turns back around to face Harry, and hugs him so tight. Harry returns the hug like second nature.

He nuzzles at Harry's chest, a soft look on his face as he says, "You're my home, too. You absolute sap."

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading!
> 
> Also, I am aware of the loopholes and I wanted to write more for this so I can provide exposure to Liam, Niall, and of course Bark. I wrote this in three hours. Sorry for failing you.
> 
> Leave a comment! Constructive criticisms are always appreciated. Favorite part? Least favorite part? Room for improvement? HIT ME.


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